In the dungeons, where even silence is a luxury, time is irrelevant. The prisoners live in the throes of oppressive cold and moist, bathing in their own tears and blood as they suffer the ceaseless night away. Desperate pleas and painful cries fill the air, but they are easily annihilated by the roaring sounds of sinister laughter. Every cell is the same scene of ringing agony, except for the center, iron-built chamber where only an eerily sweet voice can be heard. Although, if one is discerning enough, they will know that it is that room that is closest to hell.

"How did she escape?"

The question is asked gently, almost as if an angel is conducting the query. The interrogator's sheer ivory gown dances as she circles a man held in chains. Her long blonde hair bounces smoothly with her every movement and the grace in which she presents herself is similar to those of ethereal deities. To regular eyes, she is a lady whose beauty rivals that of heavens, but her outside appearance is a ploy; a mask that hides her wicked, damnable soul. Her russet gaze zeroes in on her captive, waiting expectantly for a reaction.

The aged man's brown irises defiantly meet her stare as seconds stretch to minutes, but no reply comes.

"Stop making things so difficult."

The woman heaves a sigh. Four hours has passed since the warden discovered that one prisoner was unaccounted for. Four hours ago, she checked if any of the entrapment circles were broken or if the barrier was breached from the outside, but it wasn't the case. And for the past four hours, the codger in front of her, Arde the Great Sage, has refused to speak despite having undergone several tortures. She is certain that whatever has transpired is a calculated move from him and it infuriates her to admit that she has underestimated the man. He is indeed worthy of being the chief royal advisor.

"You're too good to dignify me with a response, is that what you're thinking?"

She hates the expression on his face. She hates that she can't see through it; no chinks are apparent on the surface, nothing to betray his thoughts. His countenance displays not a shred of anger nor despair. He clearly understands the situation yet there is no trace of resignation or fear coming from him. He just stands there with no obvious weakness she can exploit or latch onto apart from his beaten body; and she detests that fact.

"I don't know what makes you so calm but it doesn't matter. Any moment now, my soldiers will bring back the wench you're painstakingly keeping your silence for. Then I'll get my answers."

She's getting tired of the monologue and although the old man's silence is provocative, it isn't time for her to kill him yet. He is a vital chess piece in her game and any further threat from her will only count as her loss. She will just redirect her fury to the servant who has escaped; she may not be able to kill the sage, but that doesn't mean she can't make him watch another person's death. She will make the show worthy, of course - it will be a slow, gruesome and painful death. With that sentiment, she motions for the wardens.

"Keep an eye on him. Make sure he stays alive so he can witness what becomes of those who defy me."

"As you command, Lady Amara," replies the one armed with a sword, while the other one wielding a spear bows in obedience. Both fellows accept her order with stiff reverence, their eyes cold and empty.

Amara leaves the place with a satisfied smile. Tendrils of grey smoke swirl in her hands before disintegrating into nothing, hinting on her macabre plans. She is reveling in grotesque ideas when a bothering thought, too suspicious to be ignored, suddenly crosses her mind.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

But why her? If the sage was capable of freeing someone in the first place, he should've fled, himself. Why would he help a weak female servant?

Something about the situation strikes her as odd. If the old man wishes to free the kingdom from her wiles - as she knows he desires - he should have saved himself instead. With an extensive knowledge in any and all fields, a sage like him stands a greater chance against a sorceress like her, though not by much. Of all people, she can't fathom why he chose to give the golden opportunity to a servant; a woman who has spent her life running errands for the spoiled princess and probably doesn't even know how to read and write. A woman who, if not yet recaptured, is likely to have fallen dead somewhere by now.

Her pondering follows through as she enters the royal hall. There, leaders of several soldier groups stand waiting for her. A quick glance tells her that none of them carry a woman and her mood instantly plummets.

"Where is she?" she inquires impatiently.

"About that, Lady Amara. We have stationed soldiers to guard the perimeter of the forest and we will begin the hunt again at first light," the eldest squad captain reports.

"Am I deaf or did you fail to answer my question?" Amara fires back, her voice rising a notch to deliver an indignant warning. "Let me repeat it then... where is the wretched handmaiden?"

"She has evaded us, m'lady," the captain answers with his head hung low, too ashamed to meet the eyes of the woman who commands them.

Amara elegantly flips her hair back then speaks with a smile that most certainly doesn't signify goodwill or tolerance. Her words even sound calmer as the temperature around her turns chilly. "Then why are you all here instead of out there searching for her?"

Another squad captain begins to stutter. "That... The handmaiden ran to the forest... A-and it is dangerous for us to keep pursuit in the dark. She i--"

A shadowy sword pierces the throat of the speaking soldier then retracts; in its wake, crimson liquid splatters the walls and the floor of the royal hall like a fountain. A tiny gurgling sound is heard before the man collapses in the puddle of his own blood, the rest of his statement lost forever. Everything goes still for a moment as dread and shock fill the atmosphere.

"Oh, my hand slipped. I was supposed to rub my ears; it was getting tingly from hearing a bunch of nonsense," Amara comments sweetly, paying no need to the mortified gazes of the people around her. "Why don't you all depart at once to look for the handmaiden, so the cleaners can take care of this messy hall. After all, I want my castle pristine as always.

"But the huldra appears in the evening, we c---"

Another remark is cut short as the head of the speaker rolls on the floor. It happens so abruptly that the body doesn't fall down until Amara kicks it herself. The sword in her hand vibrates dangerously for a few seconds, seemingly pleased with its ghastly ways. Then just as quickly as it has formed, it vanishes in a whirling fume of dark smoke, its purpose to instill fear greatly successful.

"Oh dear, it seems my patience is being tested. I don't have much, mind you," Amara says after a gleeful laugh. Then she changes her expression into that of a superior giving reprimand. "You number in tens and twenties, and you're telling me you scampered back here with nothing to show because you were scared of a single huldra?"

The remaining soldiers before her listen with bated breath. They surely haven't gotten over the untimely death of their comrades but that's good. From then on, no one will be foolish enough to rebel against her. The next step now is to pacify them with heartfelt words - a manipulation disguised as abstract assurance and lofty inspiration. After all, the lowly grunts may be powerless but their allegiance still amounts to something and they're not entirely useless in accomplishing menial tasks.

"When you come to my side, the dark has ceased to become your enemy. You need not be afraid of it nor of the creatures that lurk within its bounds."

A cautionary tale works just like magic. Kill one or two to set an example and those who are spared a bit of mercy will hurry to prove themselves, never once straying off path. Amara likes how effective the method is, humans really aren't more than just trained dogs.

"Now go and find her," she commands once again. "I don't care if it's a living human or a mangled corpse, be sure to bring her back."